


the pitiable manunkind

by Acacia096



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Introspection, Mentions of Death, Multi, Spoilers, analysis of others’ personalities?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacia096/pseuds/Acacia096
Summary: “pity this busy monster, manunkind.” - E. E. CummingsA look into Kokichi’s psyche.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi & Other(s)
Kudos: 1





	the pitiable manunkind

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the first chapter and noticeable allusions to the later chapters of Danganronpa V3!

She thinks you’re suffering from delusions of grandeur. You think that you’re fine. 

You see the olive wrists of a boy you’ve never cared to know fall limp as Kaede gives a furtive glance towards your direction. Possibly accusatory? You can’t help your vacuous stare at the body as the clarion call of the announcement rings through the room. You can’t help that imminent death hangs above your heads. You can’t help that elementary logic would lead to an outcome such as this; that one’s death would prove to be immutable in this state. You can’t help the eldritch tang of the scent of rotting, the scent of death, as it hits your nostrils. Nerve strands connect to your brain, connects to your eyes, your ears, your body. They vitalize them, making something so small (like this?) seem so big. They form your logic, your beliefs. And maybe something in her brain must’ve controlled her reaction. The reason why she was so scared, the reason why she cared so much. You bury everything except your logic down, that night. 

As the morning stars streak the man-made, facsimile of the sky; Akamatsu is silent as she investigates, but she purses her lips, shuffles those purple sneakers of hers down the hallway and plays coy. 

Meanwhile, the detective camouflages in the stale , grey depths of the school. He tries to play on the sidelines; to play with the bigness of his littleness. He tries to be inconspicuous. He always fails, you’d later think in the trial, as you see him attract the suspicion of the damned. And so you’ll help him before it’s too late. Before anyone would miss him. You just pity him, really. 

The maid ensconces herself in a state of paranoia. And she’s quick about it too! You see her rush from table to table in a duenda of cleanliness. You watch her make no haste with her convictions, and you see her leap out as she becomes ensnared in them. Its incorrigible at this point, really. You could roll your eyes! 

But they’ll be stars in his. How pitiable. The astronaut can claim he cares for everyone, but it won’t change anything. He thinks your a freak, the suspicion of a smile imprints on your lips. the feeling’s mutual, you think as you feel the serration of his nails on your wrists. You later say as his yell rings off your ears. You later mumble as the churn of the machine hits your ears, as it scathes and presses on your skin. As you breathe your last breath. 

The mage . She clutches your right hand as if she’s going to lose it. under the plasmatic, soft purple illuminated light. Amongst the cries of the convicted. 

The detective counts the white of your knuckles like rosary beads when the miasma of the piano fades. He clenches tightly around your palm, he doesn’t let go and you can’t stop yourself from flinching. Until the last notes strike. Until the purple girl flutters her eyes back open again. And maybe you don’t know him enough to miss him when he’s gone; and maybe you don’t want to, but you do. 

It’s funny, you think. That you thought you were different, you thought you were better than them. 

Why aren’t you better?


End file.
